


cold nights called love

by hanyus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship/Love, Hopeful Ending, Late at Night, M/M, Muggle London, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Build, Snowball Fight, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyus/pseuds/hanyus
Summary: Every night, Harry created ice bubbles with his wand. And every morning, he found beautiful sculptures made with his bubbles. But, only one thing had Harry sensed in that so captivating art: the power of a beautiful, magical aura in the cold nights of London.





	cold nights called love

**Author's Note:**

> I've published this story in another language and in another page and, why not here? I wrote this story like, years ago, and I've corrected half of it (all of it, being honest), because my writing style is so different now. I changed the title too, because I like this one more. I've improved it, so yup, I'm happy with the result!
> 
> Also, here there's no Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley. Sirius's alive, and I love him so much that I wanted him to show up here, so please, don't kill me. This is like a Post-Hogwarts AU, basically.
> 
> Enjoy it! ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧

* * *

  _There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.”_

― Sarah Dessen.

* * *

 

Ron’s incoherent stammers didn’t take long to be heard, who was in a somewhat… _pitiful_ state. He was too endearing for not to laugh — but Hermione and Harry failed at that.

That night the Golden Trio had wanted to have a good time in a bar, filled with laughter, daily stories and bad jokes, in which the drinks didn’t want to stop at any time. They had had such a good time, that Ron — the very idiot — had let himself be carried away by the effects of alcohol, ending up as he was at that moment: drunk to the edges.

Ron hadn’t stopped swinging from one side to another until they left the bar. Harry and Hermione had to apologize a few times with the barman for the shouts their best friend had given and the scandal he had begun to make.

Hermione had helped him to hold Ron, but in the end, the woman could with the heavy body of her boyfriend and held him herself, carrying a grimace between the amusement annoyance in her fine features. Hermione slipped Ron’s arm around her neck and with the other hand held him tightly around the waist, laughing occasionally for listening Weasley’s funny murmurs.

“I lovvve you zo muuch, ‘Mione…” Ron drawled. He managed to lock his tongue in the process, as any hint of a bad drinker. “Oh… and you too, Haggy… You two are the besst…” When he finished whispering the last thing, Ron broke into a loud laugh that made him arching back, causing Hermione to cling her grip, startled.

Somehow, Ron’s body was still heavy.

“Stop that, idiot,” Hermione complained, infected by Weasley’s laughter.

Harry admired that scene, the most strangely tender one. But still… Ron should have listened to him hours ago. Long before entering the bar, Harry had already told his best friend that muggle beer was totally different and, to some measure, stronger than the beers of the magical world. Apparently, Ron preferred to turn a deaf ear and wanted to taste more and more, without considering the consequences.

Harry promised himself that he would laugh at the headache that Ron was supposed to have tomorrow. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. His friend would look so funny, and well — Harry would be ready to throw it in his face.

“You’d better take good care of him tonight, Hermione,” Harry said, putting his scarf around his neck better.

Hermione nodded with an expression that meant to Harry _I’m possibly going to suffer tonight_. She added the fact that she was wobbling slightly according to Ron’s movements, but she could hold him close much better, telling him to lower his voice. She hadn’t even given her time to button the beige raincoat she had wear that night, and she was afraid that her high heel shoes would break on the way home or sink deep into the snow. Hermione was shivering, too; but she didn’t care and would hold him firmly for being the first time Ron drank that way.

First and last time, _maybe_.

“Don’t worry, Harry, I can with this hollow headed man,” she assured him, curling her red lips to one side. “And you, what will you do? Will you go home?”

Ron laughed again and Hermione, now annoyed, had to cover his mouth with her hand, glaring at her boyfriend. Neither Harry nor she wanted to be noticed on the street late at night. It would be difficult not to stress with Ron in that state, and that, adding the vomiting he would surely have. Hermione didn’t want to imagine the night that would await her…

Harry slid his hands into his pockets of his coat and shook his head at her question, smiling.

“I still have energy after this,” Harry chuckled. “Before I’ll take a walk around and then I’ll go home. Sirius can wait a little longer.”

Hermione shrugged as she could, “Good.” Then she winked at him. “Goodnight, Harry.”

As he saw Hermione smile and he said goodbye to her with a wave, Harry stayed a few seconds there, still, watching with a smirk how Ron tripped sometimes. When the figures of his two best friends disappeared behind a corner, he slowly faded that smile and let out a sigh. He wasn’t tired, it’s just that that night had made him smile so much, that the corners of his lips began to hurt.

Turning on his heel, Harry started walking along the lonely sidewalk, watching down from time to time how the snow had overtaken it. It was a very dark and cold night… If he raised his head, he could see in detail that the full moon shone on the beautiful top of a quiet night sky.

On more than one occasion, every night, Harry used to appreciate the stars with his godfather, talking endlessly about the various constellations… despite knowing them by heart for having listened them long enough. That little moment had always been peaceful for both of them.

Harry sighed again, shrugging his shoulders to keep warm.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking the streets, but he thought it was the most pleasant and — clearly, being immersed in your thoughts, everything was much more pleasant in some aspect. When Harry slid his gaze up, he immediately visualized an area illuminated by streetlights; these were positioned around four benches, in a circle, forming a cosy space. It seemed a clearing, seen from the perspective of a forest.

Harry smiled and approached that area, which was _flooded_ in whitish snow. Harry sat on the back of a bench and stayed for a long time watching his feet, moving them at the same rhythm as his calm humming. Thinking, he looked around to see if there were any muggle in that place, and was glad to know that there was absolutely no one; it seemed as if everyone had gone to their warm homes. And he…

He wanted to do magic.

When making sure that nobody really passed through that area, Harry took out his wand, which he kept inside his coat, and began to create small stars with the snow, turning them into ice. After a few minutes doing that, he chose to create something new. Harry waved his wand in slow, small circles, causing the snow to rise and turn into bubbles the size of his hand. He froze the bubbles and one by one, he grouped them next to the bench where he had sat.

He remained like that for a few minutes, until, yawning, Harry preferred to go home and tell Sirius how funny and entertaining that night was at the bar.

As promised, the next morning Harry laughed at Ron for witnessing how he had an unpleasant headache.

That morning he had gone to visit the couple at their apartment, finding that Hermione’s brown hair was totally a mess, with small braids hanging in disorderly patterns.

“You don’t know how funny Ron looked playing with my hair. This idiot,” she informed him when Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow, asking that mute question at her appearance.

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled, muttering _I love him_ before letting him pass. Harry wanted to annoy his best friend a little and approached him with a broad grin as soon as he saw him, making Ron stare at him in a recent panic; Weasley wasn’t in a condition to endure —

But right there, it was when Harry shouted at him very close to his ear and Ron pulled away from his body as fast as lightning. Ron let out a grunt, putting his hands up to his ears. He couldn’t hit Harry with the first thing he could find because, really, he wasn’t for more noises and sudden movements. His head ached like hell.

“Oh, _man_. I hate _you_ right now.”

Harry had to apologize with a giggle, quarreling later the consequences that Ron had had when drinking so much. This time his best friend heard his words with a vague expression, and Harry smiled when he saw that Ron agreed with a nod. Hermione had to comb her hair properly before entering the kitchen to prepare them both a delicious breakfast.

Harry would stay with them for a while.

As soon as he finished that delight, Harry said goodbye to both and left their apartment, wanting to take another walk in the streets. Lately he preferred to spend a few days alone, deeply immersed in his own thoughts and feeling the nice atmosphere of London. Those days he appreciated them of how relaxing they were for him.

Harry went to the same place as the night before, and he didn’t take long to get to that area surrounded by streetlights, nor did it take him long to… be surprised. Slowly he slowed his steps near the bench where he had been yesterday, and slightly opening his lips and eyes, he saw it.

 _It was an ice sculpture_ , a beautiful crystal tree in the middle of the snow circle.

Harry blinked, stunned, “What…?”

The sight was extremely beautiful. Extremely unique.

The sculpture of the tree was four heads taller than him. With the wonderful light provided by the sun, you could appreciate in detail how brilliant that art was made to look. The shades of the sun’s rays were like gold flakes through the gelid ice, twinkling like amber. The tree also had as decoration a few leaves of ice hanging from its branches.

A smile formed on Harry’s lips when he heard the faint jingling of the leaves due to the soft, cool morning breeze. Harry knew it was magic, he felt it as soon as he approached, but who was the wizard or witch who made such a fascinating art?

However, he also sensed another magical aura. Slowly, Harry led his emerald gaze to the side of the bench, where he didn’t see the ice bubbles he had made the night before. He frowned slightly, but it was not long before he realized the hidden detail: someone had used his bubbles to make the sculpture.

He couldn’t help but drop a light laugh, shrugging his shoulders to warm himself a little more.

It was endearing. And the magic, wonderful.

That same night, he had also been with his two best friends to talk and have a good time. Harry laughed when he heard Ron murmur that this time he wouldn’t drink, but Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes knowing that their friend would, even if it was just a mere beer, no more.

After the meeting at the bar, after a fun talk, Harry and Ron said goodbye to Hermione. She told them she was a little tired.

“I’ll go to the apartment to read a book that I left halfway, and I’ll definitely fall asleep later.” Hermione smiled, looking at them. “Have a good night, you two.”

“Yup,” Ron said first.

“Take care of yourself, Hermione.” Harry smiled at her.

Harry and Ron took a long walk around, half in comfortable silence, and the other half talking about any triviality. Again, Harry smiled as he visualized the circular area, which was his favorite one so far.

The sculpture of the tree had disappeared, and yet the calm that it transmitted to him since that morning was strangely permanent.

He approached with Ron and they both sat on the bench indicated by Harry. From there, his best friend had not stopped talking for a long minutes about Ginny and his brother Charlie in Romania. He even told him that there was a day that a fierce dragon escaped and, his brother and others of his companions, were looking for it for two days, with the hope that it would not cause any catastrophe.

“—it wasn’t an irreversible thing, you know? I think Charlie managed very well, and that was when John—”

Harry had been distracted meanwhile, but with an ear on Ron’s words, listening to him. While his friend talked and talked, Harry began to create ice bubbles with his wand, grouping them to the side of the bench, as he did the first time. He didn’t think about why he did it this time, but… he had a vague hope that, the next morning, he would come here and find another beautiful sculpture again.

He didn’t know if it would happen, but after all, _it would be worth it_.

With all his hope, the morning of the next day another elegant and wonderful sculpture was found in the same place. Harry had seen it from afar as he walked with his godfather; he couldn’t get close, but at that distance, he could see that it was panes of glass. They had a well-worked frame, and inside, there were patterns of different alienation. However, he couldn’t differentiate that — the little kids who watched the same sculpture covered more than one detail.

He unconsciously curved his lips in a smile when he realized that, again, someone had made that art with his bubbles.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

Whoever was doing something as beautiful as those ice sculptures had already won all the attention of Harry Potter.

 

That night Harry didn’t meet with Hermione and Ron, because he preferred to stay at home with a completely excited Sirius telling him about the events that happened to him the previous days, while Harry had been going out with his friends out there during that time.

Harry smiled. Long before arriving home with his godfather, he had once again created ice bubbles to group them in the same place, in the same side of the bench, under the same day sky. He wanted to see a new sculpture again.

 

“ _Merlin_ , this man…” Harry groaned against the pillow, after a few hours.

Harry couldn’t stop hearing Sirius’s snoring; even when they were both in different rooms, the incessant sounds could be heard clearly. And he didn’t want to use magic to soundproof the room, because he was a little tired to do it. Harry didn’t understand why he had a sleep so light that night, unable to reconcile it as he wanted to so much. But one thing he did know, and that was that he couldn’t continue hearing his godfather’s snores, however wide awake he was now.

Letting out a long yawn, Harry slid out of the bed and dressed, keeping the warmth. He decided to go out to take a walk and clear his head, to see if that way he could sleep better later.

Despite it being four in the morning, Harry didn’t give much importance and went to his favorite place; to the calm of the snow, to the light of the moon. The night was even darker and colder than when it was eleven o’clock. The icy breeze went through his flesh and froze his bones — but he was already used to this passing weather, Harry thought. Therefore, he didn’t stop walking, until —

Until Harry stopped dead in his tracks, staring, _staring_ , at the lonely figure who was with their back to him in the middle of the snow, in the center of those streetlights.

He couldn’t believe it. It took him a few seconds to believe what he was seeing and, now, Harry recognized that formidable back perfectly, recognized that white-blond hair and, of course, recognized that person perfectly.

Draco Malfoy. Only Draco Malfoy.

Harry choked a gasp.

Suddenly, not knowing that his feet had come alive again, Harry walked closer to Malfoy and noticed that the other wizard, from time to time, reached out to take… one of _his_ ice bubbles.

Now he understood, and now he knew; Draco was the wizard who had been making those beautiful sculptures with his bubbles. All this time… All this time it had been him.

Harry moved slowly next to Malfoy, but when he saw that the other hadn’t noticed his presence yet, he tapped his shoulder briefly, and made that greyish gaze meet slowly with his emerald green.

Having been singled out for his bad decisions, having been singled out for his chaotic past in the hands of the Dark Lord, Draco had wanted to get away from the magical world for a long, long time. For his undeniable surprise, he went to live in the muggle world, where, after knowing a little more about them and their ‘strange’ customs — something that aroused a tiny curiosity in him — he bought an apartment where he currently lived alone.

For months there, Draco fell into boredom without using much magic with the freedom he would want; but, at the same time, it was extremely relaxing in a certain aspect. It was as if he really had found that inner peace that he always longed to have; something Draco never expected to find in a totally different world.

The cold atmosphere and the London crowd was even more welcoming than the Malfoy Manor, Draco thought.

Even so, he missed magic.

One night, walking alone through the dark streets of a square, unable to fall asleep — more than once it had happened to him, resulting in horrible bags under his eyes — Draco found something unexpected and, to a certain extent known, in a circular space full of snow and surrounded by benches and streetlights.

There, right there, he sensed the magic.

Draco didn’t hesitate for a moment in approaching a bench, where he found that what he had felt, had been simple ice balls grouped on one side, as if a magical being had been entertaining a little with some spells.

When he saw it, he sighed, causing the mist to slide down his chapped lips. Draco crouched down near the balls and took one, but as soon as he touched it, it exploded, making a dull, crystalline sound like _Pop-crack!_ As if Draco had broken a glass.

Then he realized that it wasn’t balls, but ice bubbles.

Draco, a little tired for not being able to fall into Morpheus’ arms that night, pulled his wand out of his pocket and froze the ice bubbles even more so he could pick them up. Draco knew that almost nobody passed through this area, especially when the moon used to hide behind the gray and thick clouds. So, without paying too much attention to his actions, Draco began to form a sculpture with the bubbles, mixing them and making slight movements with his wand to achieve a perfect finish.

He had made a crystal tree. Perhaps because of the memories Draco had of a past, in Hogwarts, where he had been staring at a certain person from up, sitting on one of the branches.

In his waking state, after having made that sculpture with magic, the next night Draco found more ice bubbles grouped in the same place. It was quite strange, but even so, he didn’t rule out the opportunity to recreate a new sculpture with the same bubbles.

This time he made panes of glass, a pattern of crystals that he would always remember to observe while eating in the Great Hall of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Always remembering those years.

The next night, Draco couldn’t sleep either. His eyelids seemed to remain in a petrified state, and Morpheus’s arms became more and more distant. He had gotten used to it, really.

That day he left his apartment late at night, knowing that it would be nothing more than three thirty in the morning. Draco didn’t care, he needed to go around, even if he stayed lying all night on the snow. Even if he stayed frozen in a deep sleep.

Draco couldn't help but smile a bit, finding again some ice bubbles in the same place as always. It was as if the wizard or witch who was making those bubbles wanted to continue seeing his sculptures. With that thought in his head — which he preferred not to give much importance — Draco squatted on the snow and froze the bubble he took, starting from below to make a new sculpture much better —

One tap.

His wand movements were suddenly interrupted when he felt a touch on his shoulder, which made him paralyze for a few seconds. Draco, lowering his wand slowly, turned his head in the same way, and made his greyish gaze meet slowly with an emerald green one. An iris that followed him during all those years in Hogwarts.

If Draco was surprised by this unexpected encounter with… Harry Potter, he didn’t let it see. But Draco was a little more surprised when he saw a full smile adorning Potter’s lips, who squatted beside him, both hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

None of them cared about such closeness, really.

Draco didn’t say a word and remained watching from the corner of his eye how Harry had turned his head to see him, still smiling at him. That smile that seemed so warm around Draco, despite feeling an icy cold piercing each of his bones.

“So, were you the one who made those sculptures with my bubbles?” Harry asked him without hesitation — his voice as soft and clear as Draco remembered — dropping a short chuckle. “I wouldn’t have expected it, Draco.”

Potter had said it so lightly, as if nothing had happened between them long ago. As if they had seen each other every day of their lives. As if they were even… _friends_.

Could he be able to determine if the word ‘friend’ would be the correct one in a situation like that? Did he even have the right to use that word with Potter?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.

_But maybe — someday. Just maybe._

Draco, coming completely out of the latent stupor, turned his gaze to the front and let his wand see, curving his pale lips to one side, minimally.

“I knew it was magic, but I wouldn’t have expected it to be yours either, Potter.”

“And we are here,” Harry said quietly, barely audible.

Harry imitated Draco shortly after, turning his gaze to the front to see how Malfoy was creating a new sculpture, although he still couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

The way Draco slid his wand over the air had always seemed to Harry a quiet chord.

As much as he held back, Harry glanced at Malfoy once more, and his smile slowly faded from his lips. His stoic face looked even paler than usual, and the dark circles under Malfoy’s eyes didn’t solve the problem. He looked extremely tired, Harry thought. He looked like a soul without enough vital energy.

Harry imagined the life the former Slytherin had led, both in the magical world and in the muggle world, after his years in Hogwarts. That night he had found, by chance, Draco alone at those late hours. There, in his favorite place. There, in the place of calm.

Malfoy had everything and nothing, and —

That made Harry feel extra pressure in his chest.

“Months without seeing you,” Harry spoke in a low tone, almost like a sad whisper. He didn’t want to say years.

This time it was Draco who glanced sideways at Harry’s profile, and couldn’t help but tighten his jaw before curving his lips into a tiny, faint smile, lowering his gaze to his wand. However, Draco remained silent, creating his new sculpture.

The relationship between them had changed considerably over the years, passing through miscommunication and silent indifference to latent mutual respect. They weren’t kids anymore. The times had changed, and their lives had also changed. There was no longer any reason to continue bothering and hating San Potter, just as there was no reason to keep remembering the painful past they experienced.

The war was over, and that’s what they would take.

“What are you doing here at this hour, Draco?” That question from Potter had made his thoughts derail completely.

Draco remained silent for a minute, looking without looking.

“For some reason, I feel like I can’t sleep these days.” He found himself confessing, much to his surprise.

Draco heard Harry’s soft laugh at his side.

“Same here,” Harry murmured, pursing his lips.

They didn’t need any more words.

Around them, the cold breeze was causing the snow to disperse from the back of the benches, to make their ears fill with the whistling of winter and that the closeness they were in was even more than welcome.

Harry watched in silence as Draco created the sculpture with the bubbles, being fascinated for how delicate and concentrated he was doing it. The shapes of the ice were seen and appreciated much more than before: there were tall towers finished in pinnacles, an extensive and narrow bridge, gothic style tribunes and arches, huge open fields…

Harry parted his lips, surprised for how beautiful Draco was doing it, and for noticing what it really was.

You could see an ice castle, you could see Hogwarts. It was the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a bright and delicate ice.

All this time, all the sculptures had been of Hogwarts.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat again.

“You do it—you do it _great_ ,” without noticing, Harry had whispered those words, causing Draco to look at him and slowly raise an eyebrow at such an unexpected compliment. There was everything but poison.

Harry continued, still without looking at Malfoy.

“Well—the first time I saw that sculpture of the tree, I—uh—I fell in love with how beautiful it was, really.” He confessed absently, looking fascinated all over the castle on the snow. Harry could still feel the former Slytherin’s heavy look on him, and that was making him even more nervous. “How did you—I mean—have you been studying thoroughly the plans of the architect who designed Hogwarts or what?”

Harry had asked it in an incredulous, funny tone.

Draco couldn’t help breaking into a sincere smile now, lowering his wand when he finished his work. He was about to laugh. He was about to laugh for real, for how funny that last thing sounded.

Draco didn’t know exactly why, but with Potter at his side, he felt totally different, as if peace were once again around him. More and more welcoming.

After all, they did had changed.

They didn’t know how long they were there, sitting on the snow and gradually opening a conversation, talking about some of the events that happened those months in the muggle world. They didn’t care about time. They didn’t care if it was daytime for them. They couldn’t stop talking to each other anymore.

Like a magnet, their voices attracted each other.

It was different.

Little by little, Harry tried to know the other side of the coin, the true side of Draco Malfoy. But they knew, they both knew, that they had a long way to go. Instead, little by little, Draco tried to know what it was really like to have someone in this world, someone with whom share moments and conversations minimally happy, someone who was anything but an enemy or a rival. Someone who Draco so longed to have in his life those difficult years, back then.

And it turned out to be Harry Potter himself.

Harry hadn’t told Hermione and Ron. He preferred to keep it secret for the moment because, although Hermione was slightly understanding, Ron could be the opposite. Or vice versa, unfortunately. Harry didn’t know, and for the moment he didn’t need to know.

It felt like this was okay. Because really, really it was okay.

The next night, Harry had stayed with Draco in the same place, surrounded by snow-covered streetlights. For some reason, knowing that Malfoy had been alone for a few and heavy months — _years_ , he imagined — Harry didn’t want to leave him alone any longer.

They ignored disastrous events of the past, but Harry knew that Malfoy always needed someone to share something with, someone with whom he could show enough smiles and words. And Harry had gotten slowly, somehow, to be that someone.

He was really surprised to see for the first time a real smile adorning Draco’s lips.

And Harry knew it was different. Everything, was being different.

That same night they both sat in the snow, crossing their legs like Indians. Harry, as a form of distraction, had begun to make a little muggle-style snowman, without magic. He supposed that Draco would not take long to ask him what he was doing, because it was so; Malfoy, as soon as he watched him do something with the snow he didn’t know much about, he asked. Harry was telling Draco the story about the creation of snowmen, about Christmas in that world and the many customs that muggles used to have with such details at Christmas.

And as a result of all his Christmas sermon, Harry couldn’t help but laugh after seeing the unreadable expression that Draco showed. But his grey eyes expressed everything Harry wanted to know: _Are you done? I already knew some of these things. You’re not the one to give me sermons right now, Potter._

“All right. Watch and learn,” Harry said him.

Thus, he taught Malfoy how to make a snowman. And when they finished, Draco told him that it was quite simple, with that side smile that characterized him in his times of Slytherin.

So that they both didn’t remain in a new silence, so that they wouldn’t fall into boredom, Harry wanted to try something else. He stood up with a smile and walked a little away from Draco to squat and make a ball the size of his hands with the snow. Harry stood up again and looked down at Malfoy with a funny and mischievous smile, showing in his hand the snowball.

Draco could see clearly that Harry was challenging him with his gaze, and he knew it as soon as he saw the snowball in his hand.

“Do you really want to fight, Potter?”

“I’ll be willing to suffer the consequences.”

Harry shrugged and threw quickly the snowball to Draco, hitting him straight in the chest. Some snow was impregnated in Draco’s raincoat and Harry laughed in front of him and wiped himself an imaginary tear, inciting Malfoy to have some fun.

“You just started a war, Harry,” Draco said. He made two snowballs and stood up, running after Potter so he could catch him nearby and throw them with the same force he did.

“I think it’s the second one I start!” Harry commented between laughs as he run away from Malfoy.

That’s how they both started a snowball fight. Without knowing how long it would last, or how many balls had been thrown. They were just both, just the two, having fun like never before.

Having San Potter as a target was to some extent entertaining. Draco had never had such a good time before without a hint of mockery, without a hint of argument between them. Never before had he laughed so hard in front of someone, had never shown such an open side to anyone, not even to his family. Being with Harry felt much more free than before.

He was free, that was what mattered.

When his lungs couldn’t keep up the laughter, Draco couldn’t help but take a break, falling on his back on the snow. His chest rose and fell through his agitated breathing, letting out short gasps until the mist caressed gently the air.

Draco stared at the starry sky to try to calm his heart.

On the other hand, Harry made a new snowball and approached him, entering in Draco’s field of vision. Harry looked at him from up and smirked. When he was about to throw the ball to him, Draco moved and tripped Harry, until he saw him fall at his side, releasing the ball. He heard Potter groan, so Draco couldn’t hold himself back and let out a loud laugh, bringing his hands to his abdomen.

Harry lay down next to Draco and also looked up at the sky, recovering from the hit. But when he heard Draco’s sincere, loud laugh, he was stunned. Harry turned his head to him and looked at Malfoy’s profile, who was trying to stop laughing.

Harry bit a wide smile. He was happy to see him like that, with a new expression, completely different from what it was before. Complete and undeniably different.

A soul that had regained its vital energy.

Once Draco could stop laughing, he sighed heavily and slowly stood up from the snow, brushing off his clothes. Harry imitated him seconds later and looked at the time on his wristwatch. It was already too late, and Sirius would ask him again where he had been at those hours.

“Well, it’s time for me to go,” Harry spoke first, regulating his breathing, the hint of a wide smile still there.

Draco smiled sideways and, pulling both hands into the pockets of his long black raincoat, approached Harry.

“Good night, then,” Draco said, surprising Harry enough by the action he had done next: ruffling his hair to remove some snow. “Oh—wait—” Draco noticed that Harry had a little piece of snow on his left cheekbone and he moved his hand to Potter’s cheek, removing it with the thumb in a soft touch. Draco walked away a little and smiled satisfied. “See you.”

Harry himself felt paralyzed, frozen in time, and suddenly felt that his cheeks burned a little more for that caress. As he watched as Draco’s figure walked away and vanished into the darkness, into the calm of the night, with each step he took, Harry could feel that his heart was accelerating more and more.

It felt different, and somehow, he liked it. He liked it so much.

Harry smiled softly, turning around to make his way home.

Harry went out in the morning to his favorite place, and he was, once again, fascinated. His heart beat a thousand per hour when he witnessed and saw in detail the new sculpture that Draco had made.

However, the creator wasn’t there.

Harry approached and ran a hand through his hair, unable to hold a fully affected smile from slipping up his lips.

It was a beautiful crystalline stag, with every detail well marked. Next to the sculpture was an ice bubble, floating.

Harry looked around just in case, but there were no muggles around. Looking again at the front, he felt his heart went crazy even more as he realized that the sculpture was his Patronus — _a stag_.

Slowly, Harry noticed that there were some small letters in front of the beautiful art. The letters were floating in the air, moving in undulations. It read: _Exploit the ice bubble_.

Harry brought his hand to the bubble and exploded it, hearing that crystalline noise as he did so. From the inside of the bubble, new words emerged, transparent, in shades of blue and tenuous as ice, which read the following:

_Thank you for being my guardian of happiness when I needed it the most, Harry. Thank you for those moments, and for everything, Potter._

_We’ll see each other where the magic of ice bubbles and sculptures were born. Where the cold nights became the only warmth around us. Where we’re only us, free, remembering. In our favorite place._

When he finished reading it, Harry curved up his lips even more into a tender smile, his eyes watered, soft, feeling the warmth of those words sink deep into his heart.

Every night, Harry Potter created ice bubbles with his wand, and every morning, Draco Malfoy transmitted his feelings in his sculptures.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
